The Sprintz Gala
by mediaboy
Summary: James' Christmas Gala was the highlight of the fashionable types in his particular part of the world. The rich, the famous, the successful. The beautiful, the sexy, the gorgeous. Also Alex, when he could make it. [1K ONESHOT]


Alex slouched into the room as if he was being dragged there against his will by a horde of horses. Which, all things considered, wasn't too far from the truth. If James didn't count as a horde of horses, then he was sure that the now-named "Billion Dollar Philanthropist" could convince one of his daughter's riding teachers to lend him a literal horde of horses.

Point Blanc had been a dark and depressing month. A low point in his career, beaten only by the other times that he was nearly murdered by a psychopath scientist with a penchant for drama and bad spy film plots for taking over the world. The plus side, he supposed, was that it had been everyone's worst month as a teenager, including, he hoped, James'.

Though he wouldn't put it past the bastard to have secretly enjoyed having the chance to finally make some real friends. If you could count twelve clones as different people. Or if you could count "being tortured alongside complete strangers" as a bonding experience. James had always been a bit odd. Which coming from Alex meant rath-

"Alex! You made it!"

Why hadn't Alex found the escape route? Wasn't he supposed to be a super spy or something? Rookie error, really.

"I was just saying to Dimitry that I was expecting you to make it this year. He's keen to talk to someone about something that explodes, and I told him that you were the perfect person to talk to about such things."

James' Christmas Gala was the highlight of the fashionable types in his particular part of the world. The rich, the famous, the successful. The beautiful, the sexy, the gorgeous. Also Alex, when he could make it. All those people in one room. It gave him the heebie jeebies. He rose his eyebrows goodnaturedly at James' jab, "Are you ever going to let me live that down?"

"And have you blow up my _other _Rolls Royce? Please." James looked completely unbothered, but still. Alex winced. Yes, perhaps James did have a point sometimes.

"To be fair, it was a hideous colour." Paul popped up out of nowhere, along with Dimitry. "If Alex hadn't done something about it, we would have had to drive it into a river or something. Don't you have a lake somewhere in the garden?"

James rolled his eyes. "Only during the Summer. Father fills it in over the Winter so he has somewhere to play golf."

Alex eyed up James with some suspicion. He was not entirely sure whether or not he was joking. "Hello Paul, Dimitry."

"Hello Alex. It is good to see you again." Dimitry's slightly formal English remained, despite a decade of being around them and six years work as a diplomat in London. "Have you been keeping well?"

"Mostly." Alex shrugged, in a gesture that somehow managed to involve absolutely no movement, "Less explosions these days."

"You have been promoted, yes?" Dimitry peered at him anxiously, "My colleagues have been most keen to tell me about your adventures."

"The office has decided that, perhaps, it is time for me to stop travelling abroad so much, yes."

James smirked, "So you'll have time for more fundraisers then?"

Alex looked around at the ball, the elegant suits, the long dresses, and then at himself. Then back at James. Then back down at his jeans, crumpled shirt and fraying jacket.

"Well, we can work on that." James smiled dangerously, "In fact, to celebrate your promotion, we are giving you a not insignificant gift."

Paul took a step back as Alex glared at him. Alex knew, somehow, that this was probably going to be something that Paul or Tom had managed to get James to fund, which meant it could be _anything_. "Is it bulletproof?"

"Ah. Well." James looked uneasy for a moment, glancing over at Dimitry, whose laughter was finally beginning to escape him. "Kind of."

"Is it going to get blown up the first time I touch it?"

James tossed an envelope at Alex's face before he could continue his litany of woe. "Just open it you doofus."

Alex snapped a knife into his hand, before running the blade around the edges, not taking his eyes off of James' slightly more pale face. Storing the knife back… somewhere… he looked inside the card, his expression softening. "Is this.."

"Yes." James beamed, obviously happy now that Alex seemed to be accepting it. "All the codes, protections and everything else you need to live right here, in this villa, as much as you want, as you want, whenever you want."

"You're going to trust me with your entire house?"

"Merry Christmas!" James smiled, obviously completely unbothered by the prospect of his house suffering "minor" damage. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

It was at this point that the James Sprintz Christmas Gala of 2018 was interrupted by terrorists.


End file.
